


"To what, mysterious, Lead'st thou?"

by fannishliss



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-02
Updated: 2012-03-02
Packaged: 2017-11-26 15:30:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's not always sure how someone so brilliant can accept so many things as accidents, happenstance, miscalculations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"To what, mysterious, Lead'st thou?"

title: "To what, mysterious, Lead'st thou?"  
author: [](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/)**fannishliss**  
length: 400 words  
rating: G  
Pairing: Doctor/Rose (background only)

_She's not always sure how someone so brilliant can accept so many things as accidents, happenstance, miscalculations._

Title from Keats's [Ode on a Grecian Urn](http://www.bartleby.com/101/625.html), which is very appropriate for the Doctor.

===

She's not always sure how someone so brilliant can accept so many things as accidents, happenstance, miscalculations.

Through the centuries of close observation, she's come to the conclusion that these apparent miscalculations of his only fuel the fire he feels inside to right the wrongs the universe seems to perpetrate on those unfortunates he encounters on their journey.

Even on their first flight, breaking the law, flying back, back, back into sacrosanct, untouchable history, what seemed to him to be random was by no means random. A TT capsule of any calibre has the whole of Time Lord knowledge fed direct from the Matrix into its navigational systems, and the Tardis (as her thief's granddaughter christened her) takes care never to rely on the Time Lords and their matrix, but secrets away their knowledge within her own systems, backups and failsafes until every trip is a pleasure cruise strung between the ports of call, the quasi-stable fixed points that the Time Lords believed pin the universe together.

She sails him between them, here, there, everywhere, weaving her thief into the fabric of Time, Space, the relative dimensions, and everything.  

Miscalculations.  The very idea.

Is it error when she lands him on Earth in 1963 — touching his granddaughter down in the junkyard she'd take for a name — launching him into the lives of his first two companions, the gentle and civilized teachers who introduced him to humanity?

Is it a mistake when she leaves the beautiful Sarah Jane (how she had loved the bright mind and daring actions of the girl) in a city just far enough from home to awaken her knowledge of just how capable she really was, always had been, and could be, even without the Doctor as her companion?

Is it accident when she takes him, one fateful night, to meet a girl whose destiny howls through Time like packs of wolves — a girl whose timestream is inextricably bound into the heart of the Tardis herself?  

And when she weaves her way between the dimensions — as he thought, for the last time — leaving the Wolf girl and her mate alone on a windy beach  — is it truly the end — or just another of his errors?

As their stories play out between the fixed points, rippling and threading through the lifestream of the universe, the Tardis watches and laughs at the idea of miscalculations.  



End file.
